


A 'Brief' Misunderstanding

by BayouSexual



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, mix up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28627434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BayouSexual/pseuds/BayouSexual
Summary: “Whoa, whoa! Slow down, Stiles.” Derek says, voice struggling to return to its normal tone. “Nobody’s having a love affair with your father!” Well, Derek thinks, someone could be. But it's not him. “Least of all me! What the hell?”----------Or that fic where Stiles makes an accusation. It has an unexpected outcome.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 11
Kudos: 310





	A 'Brief' Misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [«Маленькое» недоразумение [A 'Brief' Misunderstanding]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28832835) by [Katherine93](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katherine93/pseuds/Katherine93)



> Anonymous said:  
> Hi! I'd love to see what you do with this: "Why did you mail my dad your underwear?" with Sterek.
> 
> \---------  
> This took a lot longer to get out than I had originally intended, it's also a lot longer than the small drabble it was meant to be.  
> I Hope someone out there is able to find humor in it. And I hope I didn't bungle Stiles and Derek too badly. It's been a long time since I touched these characters, thanks for the opportunity to make them touch each other (even if its just a kiss this time) ;) 
> 
> Special shoutout as always to Vye. You're my rock and without you I'd probably commit crimes.

Derek is alone in the loft when he hears the doorknob jiggle. 

He thinks it says a lot about his improving character that he doesn’t immediately stand up and shift defensively. Instead, he listens carefully for the uneven and tell-tale beat of a heart, and sniffs the air lightly to see if there’s any trace of distress in the scent beyond the door. There isn’t, so he stays seated at his kitchen island and waits patiently for Stiles to fumble around to the correct key. 

Derek knows its Stiles at his door even without the smell of his obnoxious pine body wash mixing with the always-there trace of anxiety, because Stiles is the only one who never seems able to unlock the door on the first try. Stiles chalks it up to human error, but the rest of them know it’s because Stiles actually carries a ridiculous amount of keys. He’s probably copied every key to every building in town by now, and Derek almost regrets giving him one more.

It takes a few more frustrated jangles and a whispered ‘ _ Fuck, Erica’s right, I need to label these _ ,’ before Derek finally sighs and goes to the door. He hears another ‘ _ fuck _ ’ as he unlocks the lock from the inside and swings the door open to Stiles’s unimpressed glare. 

“Do you always have to do that?” Stiles asks, as he pushes past Derek with record force and marches straight into the loft like he’s the one who actually owns it. “One of these days you’re going to come home and I’m going to have changed the locks entirely. Probably to ones with less uniform keys. Truly, Derek, it’s ridiculous.” 

“No,” Derek replies flatly, closing said door and following Stiles back into the kitchen, “ _ you’re _ ridiculous. Why are you here Stiles?” 

He means it as more of a ‘why are you here  _ right now _ ?’ because it's  _ late _ even for Stiles _ , _ but it comes out a bit more gruff than needed. Stiles doesn’t seem to notice. 

“I’m ridiculous?” Stiles repeats, then pauses, mouth gaping like Derek has made the most heinous and nonsensical statement possible. “ _ I’m  _ ridiculous.” 

“Yes?” Derek says a bit questioningly, raising one eyebrow for emphasis. “You  _ are  _ the one with one hundred keys on six attached key rings, Stiles.”

Stiles just blinks a bit before shrugging his acceptance and backing up to sit on the stool Derek had just abandoned. “That’s not the point.” 

“Then what is the point?” Derek assumes there is one, because to give credit where credit is due, Stiles  _ always _ has a point. He just hopes they get to this one faster than they normally do. 

“Well,” Stiles bites his lip, a little bit of red coloring his cheeks the way it does when he's actually nervous, “I—” 

The lip goes further into his mouth with a dramatic suck, then Stiles blows it back out with a pop and Derek tracks the movement a bit too closely.

Stiles flails a hand along the island top, searching for something without even looking. “I don’t even know how to ask this question.Which is insane, because I love asking questions.” 

_ Here we go _ , Derek thinks, as he watches Stiles’s long fingers wrap around the opened soda Derek never planned to finish. Stiles has a track record for asking questions. He asks them a lot, and he asks them fast, often in quick succession, and if there’s one thing Derek’s sure of, Stiles’s questions are never the questions you expect.

“Ask what?” He says with a swallow, mimicking Stiles as the boy drains the rest of Derek’s soda in one go. He warily adds, “Whatever it is, it better be good. It’s almost three in the morning, Stiles.” 

“Uh,” Stiles clears his throat a bit, slamming the can back down with an audible clink. Then he looks at the ceiling like he’s praying for it to open up and swallow him, and based on the spike of anxiety in his scent, Derek thinks he probably is. Stiles’s eyes stay fixed on the ceiling even as his mouth takes on a determined set. “You know what? Fuck it.” 

Derek continues waiting patiently, when Stiles finally takes in a deep breath and meets his eyes. 

_ “Whydidyoumailmydadyourunderwear _ ?” 

“What?!” Derek chokes, a little bit of color reaching his own cheeks. Stiles fired the question off at lightning speed, but Derek is, unfortunately, still a werewolf with werewolf hearing. “Stiles!” 

“Derek.” Stiles repeats, obviously mistaking Derek’s distress for partial admission, since he chooses to repeat his question. Unnecessarily slower and more emphatic this time. “ _ Why _ ...did  _ you _ mail  _ my father _ , who is the  _ sheriff,  _ a pair of your boxer briefs?” 

It's Derek’s turn to blink and gape, because  _ what? _ He’d been prepared for the typical off-the-wall creature question— he’s still not recovered from the time Stiles asked if werewolves have knots— or something personal about his past trauma, which Stiles still tends to ask about at inappropriate times.  _ Like now. At three a.m.  _

“I—” Derek is truly at a loss for words, and after a moment of blank staring where Stiles just continues to give him his signature ‘spit it out’ look, Derek's brain catches up enough to respond. “Why would you even  _ think _ that I mailed  _ anything  _ to your dad?!?”

Derek doesn’t even remember the last time he even visited the post office. The loft doesn't even have a mailbox, he sends everything to the preserve for Peter to deal with.  _ Who even mails underwear,  _ is his final thought before Stiles finally provides the evidence.

He pulls a folded parcel of silky black fabric from his jacket pocket and waves it at Derek like it's the Holy Grail. 

“This is why!” 

The boxers do, after unfolding in Stiles’s hand, appear to be extremely similar to the black silk briefs that Derek wears with his tightest jeans on occasion. You know, for comfort reasons. He just absolutely doesn’t know why Stiles would have them, or, as a matter of fact, why Stiles knows what said briefs of Derek’s even look like. 

“Wait,” Derek says cautiously, “how do you know those are mine, or that I wear underwear that even look like that? For all you know I could wear ratty cotton boxers with holes in them.” 

“Because I've seen you wear these!” Stiles shouts in triumph before apparently registering the words that just slid out of his mouth. The pink of his cheeks becomes a frustrated beet red. “I mean— no! What!? I didn't mean that I've seen you in your underwear! I've just seen your underwear. On you. Like in your jeans! They ride up! Silk! I wasn't looking at your butt!  _ Fuck _ .”

Derek stands there for a beat of silence,  _ processing _ , listening as Stiles digs his own grave of embarrassment. 

“O...kay.” He says slowly. 

“You know what,” Stiles squeaks, lowering the boxers he’s still holding unceremoniously between them, “I should probably just go. We could sort this out a different day,” he pauses and Derek is hit with the scent of full-blown panic, “or like, never. Yeah, preferably never. I should just stay in my lane! If you want to have some weird torrid affair with my father where you mail each other sexy gifts like it's the nineteen forties then that's probably actually your business, and I don't need to know after all!” 

Stiles gets up before Derek can even register what’s happening, but he manages to catch him with a palm to Stiles’s chest before he can slide past him. 

“Whoa, whoa! Slow down, Stiles.” Derek says, voice struggling to return to its normal tone. “Nobody’s having a love affair with your father!”  _ Well,  _ Derek thinks,  _ someone could be.  _ But it's not him. “Least of all me! What the hell?” 

“But—” Stiles stammers, visibly trying to take a deep breath as he lifts the hand holding the boxers again. Derek feels his heart stutter under his palm as his hand finally drops off Stiles’s chest. “Your underwear!” 

“They’re not mine!” Derek almost shouts—  _ almost— _ but he’s honestly a little afraid of looking guilty. He doesn’t know how to convince Stiles the boxers aren’t his without taking them out of Stiles’s hands and holding them up for himself. So, he does. “Look, they don't even look like they'd fit me, okay?” 

And honestly?  _ They don't _ . They're probably a size or two larger than Derek, and would ball up quite uncomfortably under even his loosest jeans.

Stiles still doesn't look convinced. 

“You're sure?” He asks timidly, letting his eyes fall warily to Derek’s waist like he's trying to size him up without really looking. It causes a different kind of spike in Stiles’s scent, but it's so slight Derek doesn't really catch it. 

It does jar Derek just enough to realize there's an easier solution to this than the back and forth they keep having. Before he can think too hard about it, he wads the boxers up and shoves them to his nose, inhaling deeply. 

“Dude—”

Stiles starts, but Derek cuts him off.

“They don't smell like me.” Derek says matter of factly, offering them slowly back to Stiles, who takes them reluctantly. “Actually, they don't smell like anyone.” 

“So that means…”

“They're new, Stiles. Are you sure your dad didn't just, I don't know, order them?”

“Oh god,” Stiles says, covering his face with the boxers in embarrassment. “I didn't even consider that! The package was suspicious and unmarked and when I opened it and saw them I just assumed! I assumed they were yours, because—

“Because you look at my butt... _ apparently _ .” Derek interrupts, trying on an amused smirk.

Stiles buries his face further into soft material and lets out a frustrated scream. It's a full minute before he comes up for air, and Derek gets to see the absolutely  _ wounded  _ look on his face. 

“I'm going to go crawl in a hole now,” Stiles whimpers. “If you'll excuse me.” 

“Not so fast.” Derek says, suddenly feeling like prolonging this encounter, as he blocks Stiles’s exit with his entire body this time. “I’m not just going to let you rush in here, drop an embarrassing accusation on me, then leave unscathed.” 

“Come on, dude!” Stiles groans, the red of his cheeks getting darker with each passing second. He looks up at Derek where they’re now chest to chest and winces. “I’m obviously dying of embarrassment here, and as you pointed out, it’s past three in the morning right now. I’m going to just go home, slip these,” he waves the boxers for emphasis, “back in their box, and  _ die about it _ . So, please move.”

“ _ Or,”  _ Derek offers, using their positions to back Stiles further toward the wall, “we could discuss how often you look at my ass.” 

He’s teasing for the sake of teasing now, some twisted part of him enjoying the way Stiles gets impossibly redder as he continues fumbling the boxers. Derek gets so few moments to intimidate Stiles as of late, that when Stiles’s back does finally hit the wall, Derek doesn’t relent even an inch. It leaves them face to face, just like old times. 

“ _ Jesus Christ, Derek.”  _ Stiles sputters, like he’s on the edge of losing his already nonexistent composure, then he does the last thing Derek expects. He stops altogether, forcing a deep breath and exhaling evenly. “Okay, you know what?” He continues, raising his hand and unceremoniously chucking the unused boxers somewhere behind them and officially out of sight. Derek doesn’t even bother to turn and see where they fall, he’s too busy watching Stiles continue through clenched teeth. “ _ I’ll bite.” _

Derek simply arches an inquisitive eyebrow, knowing that that’s the one response that Stiles dislikes the most, and waits for the rest of the outburst. 

“I  _ did  _ look at your ass! I  _ do _ look at your ass!  _ Often _ . Like, practically every chance I’ve gotten since I was about,  _ oh _ ,” he pretends like he’s checking an imaginary watch for a timestamp, and Derek has to stifle a laugh, “let’s says  _ sixteen.  _ So that’s,” he counts on his fingers, forcing them in Derek’s face, “four years now, but you knew that. It's a great ass and I’m, unlike the rest of you,  _ only human _ !” Stiles announces, huffing harshly at the end. “So, are we finally done here? Does that about sum it up? Because I don’t know how much longer I can go without making this more awkward than it already is.” 

Even though the outburst is perfectly Stiles-esque there’s something slightly off in Stiles’s tone, something pleading, and it almost makes Derek give in, but before he can back up the sudden spike in Stiles’s scent returns. Only, unlike earlier, Derek is much closer, allowing him to get a good strong whiff. Recognition makes him freeze. Stiles isn’t just embarrassed.  _ Stiles is aroused.  _ It’s only slight, and nothing as strong or strange as half of the scents Stiles used to project as a teenager, but Derek still doesn’t know what to do with this information. 

“Stiles?” Derek tries to question without, you know _..._ _questioning_ , and he feels his face go through several expressions at once, but Stiles huffs again before it can settle. 

“ _ Derek _ .” He answers pointedly, like he can’t even fathom how Derek is confused right now. “Oh for fuck’s sake. I knew this was going to happen.”

“What—” Derek tries to ask what that means, but he’s cut off by Stiles fisting both hands in his shirt and yanking him impossibly forward. 

“Oh, just shut up, already!” He all but shouts, and Derek only has a millisecond to register what’s happening before Stiles’s mouth is colliding with his own. 

The kiss only lasts long enough for Derek to register that,  _ yes _ , Stiles did in fact just kiss him, then he finds himself being shoved back with enough force that it actually moves him a few inches. 

“See!” Stiles hisses, “I told you I didn’t know how long I could go without making it awkward! God, do you even—” He cuts himself off, and Derek feels the grip Stiles still has on his shirt loosen and another wave of panicked scent sets in. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to do that!” Derek doesn’t move, he simply watches Stiles deflate, usually animated face tightening. “I’m sorry! You’re just so…” He trails off again, hands dropping. 

Derek is still processing when he realizes that Stiles is once again trying to slip by him and escape. 

“No.” He says gruffly, managing to fist his hand in the front of Stiles’s shirt. “Keeping you here because you might have looked at my ass was a joke, but now you’re really not going anywhere! I can  _ smell _ you panicking.” He pauses. “Among other things.”

Stiles goes right back to sputtering. Derek can practically feel another round of rambling coming on, but it’s his turn to yank, cutting Stiles off before he can even start.  _ With his own mouth.  _ It takes a moment, but unlike Stiles had, Derek doesn’t pull back, and finally he can feel Stiles shift, sliding into the kiss and responding. It's slow and very timid from both of them, and when Derek finally separates them, he keeps a hold of Stiles’s shirt collar just in case. 

“Now,” Derek says softly. “I think I have one more question before I let you go.” 

Stiles just blinks at him before whispering uncertainly, “Okay?” 

“Would you like to stick around tonight, and find out what my  _ actual _ underwear look like?” 

Stiles’s hesitant nod is all Derek needs to dive in for a deeper kiss. 

They’ll talk about it later, probably make plans to recount this as their funny get-together story years into the future, but right now Derek thinks they might be overdue. 

_ Oh, only about, five years or so, _ Stiles will say. __

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me acting unfortunate on twitter @bayousexual
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated ♥


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